A murmur ran through the assemblage, by several of whom Jack was recognised. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. Her father became much less distant towards his only daughter in the days that followed. ‘I do not need for you to tell me this. ‘You wound me to the heart, Melusine. We aren’t afraid; we don’t bother.
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